Small People Poem by Naveed Akram

Small people must marry one after another,
To keep small and happy together with one.
Their life is one busy, happier than a mother,
Cunning I call it, if short is a habit to be won.

Smaller than the rest, a crowd has emptied
The disease caught by the ill-folk,
And mastering the cure accompanied
Another cure by another bloke.

Short massive half lings are trained to kill,
An author by essential qualifications,
Who wrote that killing was an art still,
And that war was the problem of actions.

Yet war was solvable by the masses,
Intricate and statement-perfect,
Hungry, agreeable as damned the lasses,
Who came over like something different.

He who pursued a battle to its end
Can matter too late as an affair of reason,
Often it is the warlike committee to intend
A desired end that confers acceleration.